


Riding in cars with boys

by Taeyn



Series: to live forever [4]
Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: A tiny bit of fluff, Developing Relationship, Francis speaks some French, Francis’s hypochondriac tendencies, M/M, awkward gestures of affection, narrated by Richard, tipsiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:46:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taeyn/pseuds/Taeyn
Summary: Richard drives a nervous Francis to his first appointment at the dentist.





	

**Author's Note:**

> from The Secret History- _“Francis, who was a terrible hypochondriac and refused to go to the doctor alone, frequently dragged me along and it was, oddly enough, during those drives to the allergist in Manchester or the ear-nose-and-throat man in Keene that we became friends. That fall, he had to have a root canal, over about four or five weeks; each Wednesday afternoon he would show up, white-faced and silent, at my room, and we would go together to a bar in town and drink until his appointment, at three. The ostensible purpose of me coming was so I could drive him home when he got out, woozy with laughing gas, but as I waited for him at the bar while he went across the street to the dentist’s office, I was generally in no better condition to drive than he was.”_

His knock was silent and his face stark white, mine a mixture of amusement and relief. Amusement, because I had in my mind that he’d been quite keen for the checkup, and relief, because I managed to quash the amusement before he noticed.

“Having second thoughts?” I said gently, kicking the door wider so he could come in. My French poetry books were spread over the floor, a very poor translation of _Demain, dès l’aube_ well underway.

“No, no.” Francis paced miserably about the room, his cashmere coat whirling behind him every time he turned. “Dentists aren’t nearly the same as doctors, I mean, are they?”

I shrugged. The dentists back in Plano seemed very much like doctors, all pink pastel walls and magnanimous stares, same kind of bills too.

“I brush my teeth twice a day. And floss. Sometimes. I mean, when I eat chilli or something, I floss. But that’s the same with everyone, isn’t it? I mean, how often do you floss?”

He’d stopped his circling, chewed anxiously on his thumb.

“Never,” I said honestly.

“Never,” Francis repeated, with a whoosh of breath that sounded like salvation. “Right. If they say anything, I’ll tell them I use mouthwash. Or salt water. I think they’re quite old fashioned in Haverhill.”

“I thought this was about a really bad pain in your jaw.”

“It _is_ ,” Francis wailed, and I bit my tongue for reminding him. “Oh Richard, God, it’s awful, and now I don’t know if I’m making it _worse_ , I tend to clench my teeth when something’s worrying me-”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I said hastily, grabbed my coat. “Only one way to find out.”

He was blinking at the floor, scrunching his shirt cuffs into knots. He swayed a little, and before I could ask if he needed a drink, gave me a weak smile.

“ _Tomorrow, at dawn,_ ” he murmured, then nodded at the Victor Hugo poem. “Or, as you would have us believe, _Next day, enormous light._ ”

I stared at him, horrified, snatched up my lexicon and started rifling through the pages. I’d been slightly drunk when I started the assignment, not to mention the fact I’d just done a two-page Greek essay on the epigrams of Callimachus. I found the right page, glared accusingly at Francis, only to find-

He was smirking.

“ _Imbécille_ ,” I laughed, my accent languishing on the up-notes in a rather good impression of his.

“Ah, _mon amie_ ,” he returned, flourishing his arms, “ _at the hour when the countryside whitens, I will depart. You see, I know you wait for me!"_

He swept out of the room, wingtips clipping and echoing down the hall. I wedged a Big Road Atlas beneath my arm (I bought it when Henry started lending me his car), I had no idea if Haverhill was north or south.

“ _Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,_ ” Francis called. _Alone, unknown, back stooped, hands crossed._

“Did you park out front, or in the faculty?” I said loudly. These sort of irrelevant details always strike me when I’m in a rush.

 _“I will neither see the golden glow of the falling evening!”_ he answered. Faculty.

I scooped up my keys, forgot to lock the door behind me. I found Francis leaning against the rail at the bottom of the stairwell. He was cracking his knuckles, his bright hair had fallen across his face.

“You don’t happen to have any diazepams, do you?” he said faintly. “I think I’m going to be ill.”

I bought him some aspirin and a lollipop from a drugstore on the way. He sat next to me, silent, swapping between smoking and crunching at the edges of the sweet.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said after a while, then closed his eyes and tipped his head against the seat.

“That’s alright. You’ll be alright,” I said softly. I’m not sure if he heard.

-

The waiting room was small and sticky, wooden laminate furniture and a fan that whined loudly on each rotation. Francis had wanted me to come in with him, but the receptionist has already given us an odd look, and the dentist’s begrudging manner somehow reminded me of my father.

He was out within fifteen anyhow, practically throwing his credit card down on the counter.

“Do you need to make a follow-up appointment?” the receptionist asked blandly. Francis shook his head, and when he picked up the card I saw his fingers were trembling.

“Thanks. See you,” I offered, but she had already turned back to her files. To Francis, once we had left, “what happened?”

“I need a root canal,” he replied, swift like ripping off a band aid. “I have a cavity. And now an infection. There’s nothing else for it. I’ll have to go back next week.”

“Then shouldn’t you have made the appointment?”

He huffed at me like this was a very unsavoury comment indeed.

“Do you want to get lunch?” I suggested, scanning for anywhere I could afford to shout him. The dine-in bar across the road looked fairly cheerful.

We got a booth at the window and two ice-cream floats. Francis kept swirling his with the straw, sipping pensively and then poking the scoop of vanilla as it sank.

“How many visits will it take?” I asked, trying to coax him out of the gloom. “To fix you up again?”

“Richard, can we please not talk about it?”

“Sorry,” I said quickly. I’d had some idea that Francis was a _load-shared-is-a-load-halved_ sort of person. “What would you like to eat? I’m thinking cheeseburger and pickles.”

“Yes,” Francis mumbled.

I gave our orders at the bar, brought back two shots of brandy to go with the floats.

“Cheers,” Francis said quietly, and then swallowed his in one. He shuddered, took a deep breath. “Five.”

I waited, rolling and unrolling my paper-menu. I didn’t have fidgety hands, but something about seeing Francis so inanimate was upsetting the balance.

“Five appointments,” he sighed. “Spaced a week apart.”

“Oh, well, that’s not too bad,” I said airily, forcing a smile. In actual fact, I thought this sounded horrendous. He glanced up, startled by the brightness in my tone, and to my surprise he gave a chuckle.

“It can be our new ritual,” he said. “Drinks, then happy gas, then ice-creams floats and more drinks.”

I laughed, and a server placed our cheeseburgers down on the table. I was strangely touched by his assumption that I’d be accompanying him, and realised, quite simply, that I wanted to.

I kept my eyes on my plate a few seconds, and when I glanced up at Francis, I saw he was separating the different elements of his meal with deliberate concentration. It struck me that what I had taken as an offhand comment had in fact been an incredibly subtle entreaty, and he hadn’t dared to hope I’d agree.

“Well, first step’s making the appointment,” I said, and Francis flashed me a quick, cagy glare.

“I’ll walk back over after lunch.”

We did, though lunch was followed by enough black and tans that we nearly lost our way. Francis was giggling dreadfully, and accidentally dropped his cup when he tried to use the reception water cooler. I had the hiccups and was trying to say as little as possible.

“You need to hold your breath and drink a whole glass of water very quickly,” Francis turned and announced to me in the middle of his booking. The receptionist said they could see him as early as tomorrow, three in the afternoon.

“Don’t let it keep you up,” I said when I dropped Francis back at his apartment. I wanted this to sound supportive, but my voice was so slurry that the meaning was anyone’s guess.

Francis looked at me for a moment, exhausted from nerves, then gave an imperceptible smile. Warm.

“Actually, I’m kind of looking forward to it,” he said, and got out of the car.

-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I feel like I’m posting a lot of these lately! :’> I’m in the middle of (another) TSH re-read, and the love tends to overspill when that happens… c: Feel free to say hi to me on tumblr ([to-live-forever](https://to-live-forever.tumblr.com/)), I follow everyone back! <3


End file.
